Blame
by lano
Summary: She blamed the dress.


**Disclaimer**: I own nothing related to this series, the network, the writers nor the producers. No copyright infringement is intended.

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**Blame**

She blamed the dress. From day one, it was very clear that this dress had a mischievous side. When she saw the iridescent blue fabric on the rack, she promised herself she was only trying it on for fun - there was no way she was paying that much for a dress, after all, she was just out to buy something pretty to wear to her wedding shower, there was no need to go overboard. Yet, when she faced herself in the mirror, wearing the only article of clothing that had ever made her _feel_ beautiful, she knew it would break her heart to walk away without it. So, when she bought the dress, she justified paying a hundred dollars more than she had agreed to by telling herself that she was saving money in the long run. She promised that she wouldn't buy another dress again for a long time, that she would just wear this one any time the occasion called for it. Yeah right.

She blamed the dress for being too dressy to wear to her wedding shower. She decided she would wear it anyway, but changed her mind at the last minute, deciding on her simple green floral dress instead. This dress did not make her feel beautiful, it made her feel normal, and normal was what she was accustomed to.

She blamed the dress for being the only dress she had to wear on Casino Night. She cursed herself for buying something that made her feel like other people would think she was trying to draw attention to herself. And then it finally clicked in her brain, and the truth became something else - she was sick of caring about what other people thought - so she decided to feel beautiful, once. She took time on her hair and put on a little more make up than she was used to. She slipped into the dress and zipped herself up, and finally stood in front of the full-length mirror on the back of her bedroom door and took herself all in, and she felt amazing. She knew she wasn't crazy when her fiancé looked at her as if he were seeing her for the first time, like he was seeing her from the inside out, and that made her sad. Sad and beautiful.

She blamed the dress when they arrived at the warehouse and everyone made a fuss over how different and pretty she looked, and they all had that look in their eyes, almost like pride, like they were discovering who she really was. Every one except for the only one, and his tongue was silent, but he looked at her like he had always known who she was, the way he always did when they were alone, and she felt comfortable. Beautiful and comfortable.

She blamed the dress for the tear running down his cheek, for the lie she just told, for the way her heart ached when she pulled away from the most perfect kiss she'd ever known, and, most of all, for the way he walked away, his possessions in tow, without looking back. She wanted to run after him, beg him to stay, tell him she felt that same love, but she froze, and she blamed the dress for that, too.

She blamed the dress for suddenly feeling alone. She never thought she had the strength to walk away from a certain future, but with the one distraction from her dull life now two hours away, she couldn't find a reason to continue on the way she had been. So she blamed the dress when she gave her ring back, and when she gave up her home without a fight, and when she kissed goodbye the only man she had ever known.

She blamed the dress as she made the decision to _finally_ follow her heart and fight for the only man that had truly known her, inside and out. And, so she blamed the dress as she thought up a plan and waited, waited, waited.

He wasn't expecting a delivery, so when a package arrived on his desk he ignored it through a few sales calls, then opened it slowly, without an ounce of excitement. He let out a yawn as he folded back the flaps to uncover a note resting on a tissue-wrapped package. Assuming his mom had sent him another sweater, he slowly ripped into a corner the package, but lost his grip when he discovered a blue iridescent fabric inside. Anxious and confused, he sat silent for a full minute before he could muster the strength to pick up the tissue-covered dress, fold the torn paper back over the corner, and set it gently back in the box. It had been 6 weeks since he had professed his love, and 2 weeks since she said "I do" to another man. Remembering the card, he was moving quickly now, flicking his thumb under the sealed flap and tearing it open. He closed his eyes as he pulled the card out of it's sleeve and held it, running his thumb over the indentations from the writing, willing himself not to hope, before opening his eyes to read:

_Jim,_

_Don't blame the dress. It's unfair to blame an inanimate object for my stupidity. Give the dress a second chance. And me. Give me a second chance. For the sake of the dress... it only seems fair._

_Saturday, 7 PM: 1305 E. Sycamore, Stamford. Please come._

_Love, love,  
Pam Beesly, emphasis on Beesly_


End file.
